Sarah laughed. abraham laughed. i laughed.

July 27, 2025 • Seventh Sunday after Pentecost
Scripture Lesson: Luke 9:54
Rev. Adrienne Brewington, Guest Preacher

[You can view the full worship video recording at: https://youtu.be/Sm1xMS8odRs]

The story is told of a man named Henry who was caught in a terrible flash flood. The flood came up so quickly and so high that Henry had to scamper to the roof of his house just to stay alive. And he began to pray to God to save him.

“Please save me,” he said. “Please save me, Lord.”

As Henry sat on the roof in the rain, a boat went by. The person on the boat called out, “Come on, get on! I’ll take you to dry land!” But Henry replied, “Oh no, no. God’s going to save me. I prayed.” So the boat left.

Next, a scuba diver came by. The diver popped his head out of the water, lifted up his mask, and said, “Come on, hop on my back. I’ll swim you to dry land.” And again Henry said, “Oh no, go ahead. I prayed. God’s going to save me. I just know it.” So the scuba diver left.

By and by, a helicopter came. The helicopter dropped a rope ladder, and a man stuck his head out of the door and said, “Climb on the ladder. I’ll pull you up and fly you to dry land!” And Henry said, “Oh no, you don’t need to do that. Go on, be about your business. God’s going to save me. I just know He is—because I prayed.” So the helicopter flew away. And the water continued to rise. And after a bit… Henry drowned.

He died. Now he’s standing at the gates of heaven. As he stood there, he demanded of St. Peter to see God. “I want to see God,” he said. “I have a couple of words for Him.”

So God came out and stood at the pearly gates. “I understand you want to speak to me,” said God.

And Henry said, “Yeah, God, I want to speak to you. I prayed for you to save me—and here I am, dead! What do you have to say for yourself?” And God said, “Well, I don’t understand why you’re angry. I sent a boat. I sent a scuba diver. I sent a helicopter. And you denied every one. That’s why you’re here.”

So it is with us, huh?

I was thinking of this story as I read the story of Abraham and Sarah encountering God. The thing that struck me first about the story was that Sarah laughed. She laughed because God didn’t appear the way she expected Him to appear. So maybe she didn’t know it was God. She laughed because God told her something incredible—that she was going to have a baby—and she didn’t believe it, because she was old and had passed the time when women like her were able to procreate.

Who knows why she laughed? But I know that she did.

I also know that as Sarah laughed, Abraham laughed in his own way. No, he didn’t giggle like Sarah did. In fact, he recognized God for who God was. He ordered his staff to slaughter an animal and bake bread and bring it to God to serve Him, to feed Him, to worship Him. And when God made this marvelous pronouncement—that Sarah was going to have a child despite her advanced age—he said nothing. He went about his business.

Years went by. Abraham went about his business. More years went by. Abraham went about his business. And for her part, Sarah had no children. So in the wake of God promising Sarah and Abraham a child, and in the wake of Sarah not procreating, Sarah said to her husband: “Here. Take my servant woman. Take her and lie with her. Let’s see what happens.”

And Abraham did. And in so doing, he laughed at God. I want to suggest to you that Abraham’s laughing was in the form of not believing that which God had foretold.

Catch the picture: Three men, glorious in their raiment, appear in the desert out of nowhere and spend their time with Abraham and Sarah. And at the end of their visit, they prophesy that Abraham and Sarah will receive the very thing they’ve been wishing for.

And yet—Sarah laughed.
And yet—Abraham, in his way and in his time, laughed as well.

I can understand what that’s like, because as deep as I think my faith is… I have laughed at God. I spent my entire teenage years wanting so much to be a mother. And not the mother of one or two or three or even four—I wanted to be the mother of a boy’s basketball team and a girl’s volleyball team. There was a house in my neighborhood that I had to pass on my way home from school. It was a huge Victorian, and I was sure it could hold me, my future husband, and every single one of those dozens of children. Then one day, when I passed by, I saw that my future home—that big Victorian—had been torn down. And I shrugged. I laughed at God. “Oh well, God,” I said. “I guess that’s not to be my fate.”

Time went by. I married the man of my dreams. And we began to dream together of having children. And in the middle of my dreaming, I had a vision one day of myself in a black judge’s robe. Now, I wasn’t a pastor then. I was a lawyer. So the black judge’s robe seemed to me to be God’s promise that I would be a judge one day. Okay, God. It’s not a baby. It’s not twenty babies. But I’ll take it.

Eventually, I felt a call to ministry. And the day I graduated from seminary, I received an appointment to my first United Methodist Church. There I was, standing in the pulpit, in a black judge’s robe—giving a children’s sermon to ten little ones at my feet. And it occurred to me: Oh… these are my children. But I shrugged it off. Okay God. It’s not one child. It’s ten children. But they’re not my children in the way I asked. So… okay. Whatever.

And life went on. Time went by. Some more time went by. And I found myself the pastor of a larger church with 25 children in the Sunday school. And there I was, sitting among them, teaching them the Word of God. And I said to myself:

Okay God. It’s not one child. It’s not ten children. It’s twenty-five children. But it’s still not what I asked for. So… alright, whatever. I guess this is your will.

Time went by. I started seeing a fertility expert. He gave me several surgeries so that I could have a baby. He did artificial insemination on me so that I could have a baby. He did in vitro fertilization on me so that I could have a baby. And I never had a baby. But by then there was a bigger church… with an even bigger Sunday school… and even more children amongst whom I sat to teach them about the wonders of God. And I said: Okay God. It’s not a baby. It’s not ten babies. It’s not twenty-five babies. It’s a whole bunch of babies—but it’s still not what I asked for. So… oh well. And in my “oh well,” Abraham was much the same as I. He recognized God.

He knew who to ask for what he needed and wanted. He knew how to recognize what was to come. Except… when it came, it didn’t compute. He didn’t understand. And when he didn’t understand, he took matters into his own hands. And taking them into his own hands… he made a mess.

Sarah laughed. Abraham laughed. I laughed. What about you? When have you laughed at God? I’m not going to ask if—because I know you have. But when?

And if you had the chance again—to see God in a different way… to recognize the movement of God in a different way… to praise God for his provision in spite of the fact that it did not come to you the way you thought it should…

Would you laugh? Or would you praise God? Would you worship Him on your knees? Would you serve Him with everything within you? Would you do that?

Or would you laugh?

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Just some food for thought on a Sunday morning, my friends:

May the words of my mouth and the meditation of all of our hearts together be acceptable in God’s sight.
Amen.

Copyright (c) 2025 - Adrienne Brewington
All rights reserved.